


Ils me manquent

by Anonymous



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: 2019 Formula 1 Season, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Monaco Grand Prix 2019
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 16:14:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19872424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Charles’ home Grand Prix does not go as planned. Pierre tries to console him.





	Ils me manquent

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first ever F1 fanfic! I hope you guys like it.  
> Special thanks to Ashley (@1eclerc on Tumblr) for helping me with the ending of this piece and for being so extremely supportive!  
> French translations will be in the end notes.  
> Thank you for reading!

It’s a warm night. Of course, Charles is used to the heat in Monaco, but something is different today. Humidity levels are nearing eighty per cent and the air is thick, pressing in on him like a blanket. His actual sheets are pushed towards the end of the bed. Everything is too much at the moment: the blankets too thick, the air too heavy, his thoughts too loud. He wishes he could stop hearing the cars on the road, the siren from a far-away police car, the ticking of the clock on the wall, the slamming of a door down the hall, the mosquito buzzing in his room. All of it is amplified tenfold, entering his head at a hundred miles an hour, refusing to leave him alone. Blinding flashes of orange and white burst through the cracks in between his curtains, forcing him to keep his palms pressed into his eyes. His thoughts are screaming at him, begging him to do something, but he doesn’t. He can’t. He can’t move, and he can’t stop feeling things. So he’s stuck, lying on his back and hearing both everything and nothing at the same time. 

Now the cars outside are silent, and the voice in his head is even louder. He messed up today. It’s his home race, and he should’ve done well in honour of his father and Jules, but he didn’t. He knows it wasn’t technically his fault his team thought he was safe while he wasn’t. Still, he feels like he could’ve done more. If only he’d been faster this wouldn’t have happened, but everything was too much this morning just like it is now. And he messed up because of it. “Tomorrow is the race,” they keep telling him, but he doesn’t believe it. How can he race having to bear with the idea of being such a disappointment to those who matter the most to him? What he wants will never come. No matter how much he seeks it, he won’t find it. And it keeps haunting him. The grief comes in waves, washing over him at night while he lay awake and robbing him from the sleep he so desperately needs. It crashes into him, knocking him off his feet. Even if he finally wins a race, that won’t bring them back. It won’t change a thing. All it will do is leave him feeling empty again, searching for a new goal to fill up the holes in his life. 

He uses all of the strength left in his body to roll himself on his side, and his eyes fall on his phone on the nightstand. The screen turns on and off a few times. The blue light illuminates the walls, notifies him of incoming messages. He isn’t sure whether he wants to look at them; it will just be the same words over and over again. _“Tomorrow is the race.” “Your time will come.” “You will get there, eventually.”_ Every time he hears them, they lose a bit of their meaning. The screen turns black again, but this time he can see a name displayed on it. He doesn’t have to read the name to know who is calling him, and he can’t resist picking up the phone.  
  
“Charles…” Pierre’s voice isn’t soft, but it’s soothing nonetheless. Charles tries to answer, but finds himself unable to speak, unable to breathe. A weight settles in his chest. His throat closes tight and his breath hitches involuntarily. Pierre must have heard the short intake of breath on the other side of the line.  
  
“Ça ira, Charles.”  
  
“Comment tu le sais?” Charles’ voice is barely audible, each word pitched higher than the previous one. He knows Pierre means no harm, but after having heard those words so often without anything actually getting better, Charles knows they simply aren’t true. Things aren’t alright and they won’t be.  
  
“Ils me manquent.” 

__

He’s incredibly glad Pierre can’t see him as his breath hitches again and tears well up in his eyes. He blinks them back, wanting to prove – to himself more than anyone – that he’s stronger than this. His breathing turns shallow and or a moment he feels like he’s suffocating, but Pierre’s voice calms him down, tells him to take deep breaths and whispers comforting words. It’s the same words he’s heard before – “This wasn’t your fault. You had no control over this.” – but Pierre saying them is what makes him believe they might be true after all. Charles wipes his tears with shaky hands, feeling his cheeks burn when Pierre tells him he is proud of him.

“Tomorrow will be tough,” Pierre continues, “but I know you’ll do amazing no matter what.” Charles can’t help but smile at that, and he whispers a soft ‘thank you’ in return. Pierre suggests they should get some sleep, but neither of them hangs up. Charles holds his phones loosely in his hand as he turns onto his back, staring at the ceiling until his eyelids begin to feel heavy. The sound of Pierre’s breathing on the other side of the line makes him feel warm and safe. His mind drifts to happy memories and, finally, he allows himself to be dragged into the oblivion of sleep.

__

**Author's Note:**

> Ça ira – It’s okay/It’ll be okay  
> Comment tu le sais? – How do you know?  
> Ils me manquent – I miss them


End file.
